


Would I Have Wings to Beat Aloft

by Anoriath



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Awful people doing awful things basically, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Patriarchy? What Patriarchy, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:34:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26227990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anoriath/pseuds/Anoriath
Summary: Wherein Aredhel Ar-Feiniel is complicit.
Relationships: Aredhel/Eöl (Tolkien), Aredhel/Thuringwethil (Tolkien)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16
Collections: Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2020





	Would I Have Wings to Beat Aloft

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MaironsMaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaironsMaid/gifts).



_What else of mine, husband, would you have bound and made yours?_

But he, her husband, had shrugged, lifting a shoulder ere he turns his back upon her. _What would you have me do for it?You wish only all or naught.Ever it has been with you._

He returns to his work of polishing a long hunting knife meant for their son.His shoulder rises and falls as he works a thick paste against its surface, its tang clamped tight against the wood of his bench and the steam and the hot smell of quenched metal of the forge rising about them. 

* * *

_Once, she felt nigh to flight. High upon the Pelóri she had ridden, the brothers Fëanorion behind.There, speeding down the high meadow, she spread her arms, the white of her garments fluttering behind her.The wind flew beneath her o’er the valley and there, within the mingling of the Trees, she rose aloft upon a song of limitless light.There she closed her eyes and the horizon fell away, and she knew naught of the crawl of limbs within the mud, nor the doubt that fettered her thoughts to those that were seemly._

* * *

He, her husband, turns not back to her nor does he give answer when she calls his name, but with slow and intent movements he brings out a high shine to the metal beneath his hands. 

Were it not for the eyes of his men about the forge upon her, she is unsure what she would have done. For a wrath arises within her heart that sets fire to her thoughts and tightens her grip upon her own hands.Of white bone and claws they seem and all she might clasp with them would do naught but come to ruin. The men look upon her with neither pity nor disdain, but somewhat distant, as had she no presence or will that might shake them.

She flees then, calling for her stallion to be made ready and clawing at the film of silk that clings to her form as were it a rope twined about her neck, breath a thing too precious of a price to pay for its beauty.

* * *

_Once, when young, she thought her heart prized. There in Tirion, on Túna.High she thought to fly, a lady twice made, once by birth and again by marriage.For who could not look upon the sons of Fëanor and not be stirred by their beauty?_

_Once, she thought to confess it, only to then be greeted with laughter._

_Ai!Ar-Feiniel, my sister, said Fingon and smiled soft and fond upon her.So young thou art!His father would rather have him wed one of the Avari than a daughter of Indis’ get._

_And what of your friendship with his eldest, my brother?_

_Should you not be able to discern the difference, it shall not fall to me to explain it.Come, see reason.You know little of such things.Do not seek to clip your wings ere it is needful.Forget him!Would you not rather keep to your horses?_

* * *

Unheeding, her flight speeds her from the ring of low huts for the uncertain ground of root and rock.The stallion beneath her groans and pants, the wind of his breath whistling from his great throat.High the trees rise about them and flicker past for the speed of his galloping.He slides upon the undergrowth and she thinks with a sigh of outgoing breath, this is it, she shall be unseated and break her neck upon the stones.But then, of the next breath with a jerk and twist of the spine, he regains his footing and with a great heave of his hindquarters thrusts himself o’er fallen trees and through narrow and twisting aisles of green. 

* * *

_Once, she thought her heart sought.There upon the pastures of Yavanna.For his face brightened at her greeting and he sought her company when others might have thought it unwise.There upon the meadows they would ride. There, laughing, he drove his mount through the herds of oxen so that they parted afore him, bellowing and cantering upon their ungainly limbs away from his whooping cries. He turned when done, his face as the sun, and begged her follow him.And so she did, laughing so that she nigh could not keep her seat upon her own mount.And when they took their rest, there he called her his little bird and spoke her fair.And her, her heart beating within the cage of her ribs, allowed his hands upon her for it._

_His blood high from the hunt, when next he saw her he leapt from his saddle at the sight of her._

_Ah! Ar-Feiniel, he cried.I have brought you a gift!_

_A bundle of white and black-spotted downy feathers, he had not had time for a hood, and so the thing had beat itself against the hasty cage of willow withies._

_It shall be full white when it is grown, said he, should it be as its elders. ‘Tis a hawk of some kind yet undiscovered. I brought it down from its nest with a dart, but beneath your tender mercies it shall heal. And you shall have the pleasure of naming it ere we train it for the hunt._

_But one look at the broken and bloodied pinfeathers and the fledgling huddled to the bottom of the tangle of green sprigs, and her gorge rose at the piteous sight._

_What did you do?Get that thing from me! she cried and, unused to such speech, his face darkened._

_Celegorm, prince of the House of Finwë, threw the bundle of withies stripped of their green at her, the thing within crying out and fluttering and clutching upon the branches._

_I meant it as a gift. Do with it what you will. ‘Tis no concern of mine._

* * *

On she presses, and when her mount would falter, she screams and beats upon his flanks with her crop.And thus, her will a thing of iron, she forces him on, until, at last, winded and rolling his eyes, he slows and balks, foam flecked pink about the corners of his mouth. 

Even then she does not cease her flight.Should the shod feet of her mount be unfit for the floor beneath them, it does not follow that her own boots are not.And so she runs, the white of skirts and sleeves a flash of light fleet between the boles of trees and the high canopy of leaves a roof overhead. 

Let the beast find his way home of his own, should he wish.

* * *

_Once, her brother bade her sing for them. There in Nevrast, in Vinyamar. There within the tall columns arising from floors of stone, firelight flickered upon faces about the open hearth.Dark was the night beyond its reach, trapped within walls of stone no less than the mountains in which they hid._

_Mayhap they hoped for solace of times remembered, ere fire awoke upon a far horizon, long wait upon distant shores unbidden and then the cold, cold of the march longer still.They bid her rise and open her heart to hear what notes would arise from her throat._

_Thou art the White Lady of the Noldor, they said, their faces turned to her._

_What song had they thought she would sing in such a place as this, with columns of stone as a cage about them?_

* * *

She is no fool.She knows well the risk.She is acquainted with its sting.Let it come!Had she not battered herself body and mind and heart against the bounds laid by her husband about the valley enough to know it well? 

Darker yet the shadows lie, the forest growing closer still.So little of light it would but starve leaf and limb and flower of bush and bramble. Naught but the musk of wet earth and bruised moss crushed underfoot arises from her passage, and moss sways and clings as hair upon the damp of midsummer.Naught to be heard but the slip and tumble of lichen and stone underfoot. 

_This time!This time!Nay, I say.This time I shall!_

* * *

_Once, she walked the halls of kings and princes. There on Amon Gwareth, in Gondolin.The watch upon the mountains and gates upon all passages closed the valley and made it secure.But there, to her, they lived as a bowl of fish; eyes all about and pressing on them.There, the White Lady of the Noldor, she held her heart still and served the needs of her kin and turned her days to the tedium of his court.There, they raised their voice in song as if in gladness, and, she, silent, listened._

_Once, she wished again to feel air cool and free upon her.And so, she gathered her skirts about her and made herself small.There, her hands at rest and clasped upon her lap, she perched upon a bench beneath trees of gold and silver, there amongst the singing of the fountains and the twittering flight of doves as the shadows of hawks slipped upon the streams of the air high overhead.There she humbled herself and begged leave to find somewhat to fuel the burning of her heart._

_Aye, Ar-Feiniel, you are a lady of the Noldor and my sister, said Turgon and smiled soft and fond upon her.But in the absence of either husband or our father, it is on me to provide for your weal and safe welfare.We live no longer in the lands of Valinor, and should your whims take you beyond our borders who shall you find to shelter you?Come, listen to reason._

_One man’s reason is another’s folly, brother.I am no man’s servant.And yet have I not served you well? I am no longer a child.Why must I still then be bound by your will where I shall go?_

_My sister, I love thee. But there are perils about us of which you are little acquainted.Should you insist, you may go.But you shall go only to seek Fingon, our brother.I shall grant you escort, and they shall go only where I bid._

_Thus he spake, and no more._

* * *

Naught lives in the dark, not truly.Where there is little light, life is but a sluggish writhing; the twist of worm within its earthen hole, the burrowing of small wingless things beneath skin and bark, the drift of strange and eyeless fish in tepid waters bound within walls of stone. 

And yet, beyond the darking song drifting as mist between the boles of the trees, there mountains rise above windswept plains.It is _there_ , the tug upon the bone of her breast.Sightless and stumbling upon stone and battering her way through low hanging leaf and growth, it pulls her on.

* * *

_Once, she thought herself free.There at Brithiach, across the River Sirion.There she crossed, and by this act of defiance her own path she laid, and cared not should her brother’s men follow._

_Let them come, unholy children born, of Ungoliant spawned and shadow fed.Beneath the towering heights of Ered Gorgoroth her arm was strong, her blade was keen.From beneath its shadow they sprang and she met them with a fury she had not yet known she bore.For deep within her heart it had lay slowly kindling.It burned through her as a fire wild upon the plains of deep autumn, bereft of rain and whipped by the high winds that scoured the land into the sea.None could stand against its course and it left but ash and scorched earth behind._

_Ah!What tale it would be to tell.Here!Here was a song she could sing!_

_And, in the midst of battle, and flight, and blood, fey and high, she laughed._

* * *

Somewhat follows behind. There it tightens the hairs upon her neck and its eyes burn upon her back.There it breathes where it should not.Silent it slips from branch to branch. And as a bird, shooting flushed from the undergrowth she rises, speeding through the trees. 

_Fa!_ she shouts.

Should her husband have followed, let him see what comes of what he had wrought!It would not be the first he had spied her there.

* * *

_Once, she had thought her blood satisfied.There in Himlad, nigh the River Celon.No kin to claim her as his, she went where she willed.There, weary of waiting, she wandered.There she rode upon lands where wind swept cold upon the high plains and whipped the long grasses as waves upon the sea.The sun rippled silver upon their bent heads before its breath, the path of her journey cleaving the grass dark behind her.Alone, she lived off the land’s thin bounty. She slept upon the river’s hard shores.And yet, she cared not for the cold, nor the wind, nor the lone wildness of the land about her, but followed the banks of the river just to see where it would lead._

_Through the willow-meads her feet lead her, the river her guide.There their branches hung low and skimmed over the rippling water.There she rested, and upon the morn, crossed and climbed its further bank.For there stood trees that were strangers to her.Tall they rose as had they been born at the begin of the world, and a hush lay about them.There she wandered beneath the shifting green of the high canopy and wondered._

_And then, of a sudden, forgot._

_The sun rose high, but she felt not its heat nor did the flash of its rays piercing through the leaves spark aught from her eyes.Dark and unseeing they opened wide upon the wood about her.Her feet graceless and stumbling, her path circled about until exhaustion and hunger claimed her._

_Not wholly of her own will had she found her way, for the forest grew drear and closed behind, opening to her feet only when they turned east._

_And thus he found her.She stood as rooted to the earth as would a hind upon the unknown rustle of limb or dance of pebble, each limb taut and trembling, eyes dark and staring._

_Come, said he._

_And there beneath the tall limbs of the tree of Nan Elmoth, Ëol drew her further in, and she stumbled on insensate feet and clutched upon his hand._

* * *

Then, from one moment to the next, the world dissolves to a mist that writhes and clings as were it her husband’s hands long bereft of warmth that slide upon cheek and breast and legs. They clutch at her feet and she trips.Here, her ears ring with the trembling of leaves.Whispers shiver upon her spine.Her thoughts skidding from beneath her own command, her heart beats as wings against a wooded cage.

_Nay!Not this time!He will not!_

She lurches forward but to stumble over upthrust roots and strike the ground as had all strings been cut.And thus, there she lay as somewhat small and still, stunned and unseeing. 

And when all is silent, and the song ebbed to misheard murmurs and the low drone of the wind within the trees, unaware and unwarned, somewhat slips through the air above and leaves its shadow upon her.

* * *

_Once, she thought her love of myth and magic made.For a time, she dwelt and thought it fair, there in Nan Elmoth, by the waters of Gladuial.Fair and tall as Thingol-kin, he took her hand and looked upon her with wonder.And as Elwë-enchanted she thought she was, with her eyes dazed and full of stars.And thus, while the world passed in the lands without, she made a choice and thought it hers._

_There they walked, hand bound to hand, upon lovers’ paths where starlight drifted through the high canopies as the fall of rain.Beneath the stars and dim-lit shade, entwined they kissed and coupled.Beneath the trees they plighted troth and beneath the trees with neither gift nor leave of kin they wed._

_What is mine is yours.I give it to you in gift, do with it what you will, her husband said, and she took pleasure in his delight._

* * *

She comes to herself retching.Her throat and nose stinging, she turns upon her side and heaves the contents of her belly upon the forest floor.Too loud the sound of water running and the song of birds that smites upon her ears.Too bright the sun filtered and green.With a head full of nettles and a heart as a drowned thing long in the sun, upon hands and knees she crawls through the bracken, the world about her a muddle of greens and brown. 

The waters of the northern lands run cold and their touch is clear and strong.Upon her belly she crawls upon the banks of the stream and there, hovering over the water, closes her eyes and, for a long moment, simply breathes. 

_Ai!_ No river this, but a clear rill cutting over the land until it bares its bones.Should she follow its path, it would but lead her back to the huts and worn paths and smithies upon the shores of Gladuial where it, too, finds its bed. 

Her hands lie cupped deep to the water, and she would drink her fill.But here she falters, for somewhat breathes upon her neck and as the ripples of her disturbance of the stream still, the water as a mirror lies.

* * *

_Once, when all things south and east she had learned, she chased the song of the water’s rush.Amongst the trees long ago grown tall about lovers enspelled, there in Nan Elmoth._

_The River Celon had brought her hither and she thought again to cross its waters.For with the land upon its further banks laid as a carpet spread beneath her feet, she wished for naught but the feel of the wind and sun beating upon her and the sight of far distant prospects.Unheeding ever north and west she went, sure it a little further on, only then to next find herself stumbling upon the path through huts and shaded glade, dirt black beneath the nails of her fingers, dress torn and stained by brambles and rock.Her eyes blown and head buzzing with the song her husband had woven about the encircling trees, the folk of the Hidden Wood parted afore her feet._

_Her husband rushed to her side, his shock plain upon his face. So distressed was he, he took her hand in both of his and bade her attend to him.Heed not the voices in her head nor the shades lurking upon the edge of vision._

_Ai!What have you done?Did you not attend to me? Lady, there are many perils beyond our bounds of which you know little. All else is peril._

_Her thoughts flitted about as so many flying insects above sun-warmed waters.But, in this moment, this she knew._

_Go only where I bid, said he._

_And, of the next, she struck him and he faltered.Stumbling back and all about her a blur of light and dark and the murmuring of folk, her hand stung._

_Silent then, was he, and drew himself to the height of his noble brethren.She thought, then, he might strike her in return.But he did not._

_He spat upon the ground, of blood and spittle mixed._

_Go where ye list, said he, then no more._

* * *

No stranger, she, to the Valley of Dreadful Death and the horrors there it holds, but this, this is a thing unknown.

For, eyes of gold with slits dark and hollow stare back at her from the water.There, unblinking and with the stench of Daedeloth about it, they fix upon her.And in the space from breath to breath, the light of its eyes goes dark.It hisses soft and, eyes closed, scents the air about her.So close it bends, its breath stirs the Lady’s hair.Ere she thinks to move or make a sound, its eyes flick open and, taking her in, the black of its depths flash broad and round and glittering. 

* * *

_Once again, she made herself small.She gathered her skirts about her and placed her hands upon her lap, quiet and still.In Nan Elmoth, far from the fords of Brithiach. Though lay they side by side as lovers wed, cool their sheets and cold their bed._

_Well aware of the day, she woke ere the sun and thought, mayhap to mend that._

_A wife must share her husband with other loves, some greater than she, or, should she not, she shall see naught but neglect in his acts and make him to be a tyrant, had said her mother._

_And so, she made to warm her husband’s bed, pouring fire into his blood ere even he awoke._

_Ëol, my love, my husband, she said not long after, and, after a moment, he turned his gaze to her._

_Without either warmth or heat his look came upon her from where he sat with the remains of their meal between them.Little thought he had for her, so deep was he in his preparations.His hands with the whorls of his fingers and bed of his nails stained dark with firescale, they settled upon the leather of the pack he had set upon their table.There his attendants had lain smoked venison, hard cheese, hearty bread of rye with beans and peas, and leather flagons of a distilled pine liquor.His armor of black metal he had polished so that it caught the light of lamp and there it flickered darkly._

_For upon the morrow was midsummer upon them, and the next morn he was away to the Fords of Aros, there to attend upon the Naugrim of Norgost and make feast with them._

_Will you not take me with you? she begged and despised every word that dropped from her lips._

_He looked away._

_No, said he, and no more._

* * *

With a cry, she twists and thrusts to her feet.Her hand flies to her belt and would draw the knife fastened therein.But with the rustling as of great wings the thing is gone and all about is still. 

* * *

_Once, she thought her son her own.There upon the edge of a child’s cradle and in the light of his eyes._

_Oh, but his spirit was one she knew well. For his heart was a restless one, never given to one thing for too long.As a child he thought he would be a master of horse of Menegroth, there to train the stallions and make them prance and leap at his command. Another, he thought he would shape metal to his command. His father’s eyes lit darkly at the shadow that attached himself to his heels. But this, too, was not to be._

_Once grown tall and the tether of his childhood loosed, he ventured far and slipped tree to tree beneath the dimly lit days._

_And so, joining him, she drew him deeper in with games of the hunt she learned long ago.To him she spoke tales of seeking and of finding.Of sharp-edged battle and blood and the mastery of the beating of your own heart. There he grew swift and seldom seen but for the glimpse of somewhat fleeting from the sides of the eyes.In this he was his mother’s son, for ever more he sought to learn and ever more he sought to master.And in this he was his father’s; ever patience, ever watchful, he hunted by stealth and swift dart loosed from the shadows._

_He flushed with pride and laughing, they made their way together.For, of the first, they walked the paths between huts and sheds upon the banks of the lake in the midst of the Hidden Wood.He bore a brace of pheasant upon his belt and his mother’s arm about his shoulders._

_There in the shadow of their door, his father awaited him, his arms across his breast._

_It is time, said he, to put away the things of your childhood.I have hunters enough.We need no more meat for our table.It is time you earned your keep._

* * *

_Ha!_ Had it thought itself clever, to glide upon the air and let the shadows hide its form?Oh, no, she need not follow its path.No rustle of dry leaf upon the forest floor.No small feet to stir them.Naught to disturb the air with the flap of wing or call of bird.Nay, the forest knows and it hides. 

This thing, it has not fled. 

Oh no, for across the dim-lit glade it, no, _her_ , stands.Dark of hair and fair of face, and all about, as a cloak, it wears its wings.There the gold of her eyes flash.For, with a twist of her lips, _She_ smiles.

* * *

_Once, there was much to wake her to her day.There in their house, about which wound the Hidden Wood.She had but to open her eyes and her day was filled. With what, she knew not until it was laid before her.And laid before her, it was.Should the hours of labor with saw and shears and file not hold the mind of a child, it clamored for somewhat else to fill it. For even should her husband not care what food lay upon the table and what amidst the stink of metal and clang of hammer he had to eat, it would not follow her son would not.He begged for sweets and smiled his small and secret smile when she whispered promises of more._

_But no longer did he clamor for sweets and those things that tempted his palate, and no longer did he hang upon her words and sit at her table.For he stunk of metal and the water in which its fire is quenched.Deep in the whorls of his fingers dark stained his skin.Soon, he would bend over bench and anvil and become so like his father in frame she could come upon him and not know which name to call._

_Once, she came upon them and they stilled, the air heavy with song and the tremor of it beating upon her ears.With eyes dark and wide with it, they stared upon her and until, grinding her teeth, she let them be._

_For soon, stripling son, so young he, lean sinew upon the bones that promised greater girth of leg and shoulder both, would sit upon his mare and ride beside his father.There she would watch as they dwindled, soon to slip from tree to tree and thence from her sight.There, of a one, singing so that the trees about them hummed in time, they passed south and east and far beyond the valley without fear or care.There, without her, her son would ride upon the plains of of Beleriand between the Rivers Celon and Gelion.And there, he would pass over the ford of Sarn Athrad into lands she had never seen._

* * *

All about _She_ is still but the eyes, a fancy made of dreams and shivering song.They watch, shining darkly as had the last ray of even’s sun been caught there. There they spark and glitter.And with a voice warmed as with honey, _She_ speaks.

 _And who art thou, little one?_ _She_ asks from where _she_ stands across the glade.Her eyes dart to Aredhel’s belt where hangs her knife, long and keen and forged of metal of the Hither Shore.Her lips twitch and head cocks. _Dost thou bite?_

Aredhel throws back her head, lifting her chin, a sudden thrill shivering upon her neck. _Come and find out.Should you dare._

And with that, she draws her knife.

Foregoing the higher ground, stutter fast _She_ pushes off from the soft bank with a gliding of wings half-spread, a dirk of twisted metal appearing in her fist.A thing of glee and shadow and sharp teeth, _She_ is. 

Aye!Let her come!

Aredhel, raising her knife and crop in either hand, springs to meet her. 

There they meet in a sudden flurry of blows.Aredhel lunges, feinting with crop only to bring down her blade as a pick to strike and pin her in place. But in a move too fast for the eye, _She_ blocks the blade and beats upon her limbs and breast until, with a broad sweep of arm and wings, Aredhel is flung aside and on her back upon the wet earth.

 _Thou art too slow, She_ says, knife in one hand and claws sharp in the other. _She_ jerks her chin. _Get up!_

A snarl claws up her throat and, wiping at the blood that slides upon her chin,Aredhel leaps to her feet only to be brushed aside, her face and arms stinging.

 _She_ laughs, sharp and fey.As a thing of sinew and claws and long teeth, they pace about the other. _Come!But raise not thy shoulder ere thou strikes, else this time I shall draw thy blood._

 _Be silent!_ Aredhel hisses, and striking out with the crop, thrusts the knife, only to be pulled close in a tangle of limbs.

Such strength to her, _She_ holds Aredhel fast with little effort, breast heaving against breast, her wings writhing in a slow beat to keep the balance.Her breath skims upon the Lady’s neck so that she shivers.It should not touch her and twist heat into her belly, but it does.

 _Nay, I don’t think I shall,_ _She_ whispers soft in Aredhel’s ear.Her voice hums and ripples in the air about them.Less than Vala but more than one of the Children, _She_ sings as the licking of flames that lap and run and twist upon themselves down Aredhel’s spine. Heat pools and somewhat twitches in her belly.

And with this, her limbs leached of their strength, Aredhel hangs limp.

 _She_ blinks, the gold of her eyes of a sudden bright upon the Elf. _She_ cocks her head and then eases her body to the ground.There, leaning in close, _She_ looks upon her, eyes lighting from head to foot, puzzlement upon her face. 

And then, as a serpent striking from the ground, Aredhel’s fist has struck her face. _She_ stumbles back from where _She_ has bent to her, stunned.Another moment and the sharp blade of a knife pinches the skin beneath her jaw, boot upon her shoulder and the twisted dirk upon the ground beyond reach.There _She_ lays upon her back, her wing splayed upon the ground, startlement upon her face. 

And then, the Lady’s face hovering above her from where she has her pinned, _She_ breaks into laughter.For upon Aredhel’s face is a mix of pride and defiance and pleading both. 

_Did I raise my shoulder and give you tell then?_ she asks through gritted teeth and presses the blade so it bites.The laughter ceases, but _She_ lies quiet within Aredhel’s hold, as were the blade that draws blood no matter.

 _Oh, little one, so bold thou art_ , _She_ says, pleased and soft.

Aredhel can do naught but hold stiff and unyielding, though her hand shakes.Her breath hitches and it is some moments ere she can speak. _Then why the attempt to ensorcel me with song?_

 _Forgive me, then,_ _She_ soothes. _’Twas no song of command, else you would not hold that blade quite so near.It was naught but of invitation.You were free to either sing it with me or close your ears to it.I need not impel thee, nor would I wish to, not one so wild and heartstrong as thee._

Aredhel gasps as had somewhat pierced through skin hardened by neglect and disuse.Her grip softens just a little, but it is enough.Hands wrap around Aredhel’s wrist and legs thick with sinew pin her about her neck and shoulder and hold her fast.Her arm pulled taut against a vice of legs about her, _She_ may lay beneath her, but the Lady is the one held fast.She sputters and, with her free hand, clutches and beats at a hip that does not yield, but lifts from the ground and pulls her tighter still. 

_What is it you want of me?_ Aredhel cries, her voice muffled against thighs that clench about her.

 _She_ bites at her lip, and the gold of her eyes swallowed by black as _She_ takes her in. _Come, little one, let go.I know the fire within thee.Let it burn._

 _Is this what you want?_ Aredhel spits and, trembling, with an unkind hand presses her fingers between the thighs that clench about her.There _She_ is warm and spasms at the touch.Had she thought it unwanted and would give her advantage, it was not to be, for, with a quick intake of breath, _She_ thrusts against the touch.

 _Aye, little one_ , comes the answer, _and what is it you want?_

 _Ai!_ She does not know.Her thoughts whirl as so many leaves stirred upon the breath of the mountain.Warm flesh twitches beneath her touch, her heart pounds in her breast so that it might leap out of its own, and somewhat deep within throbs in time with its beat. A hand lifts the knife from her grip as had she no will to hold it.And she does not know why, but she is weeping. 

Wings beat and limbs clutch and thrust, and Aredhel is on her back, pressed to the forest floor beneath her. 

_Shh_ , _She_ croons, her wings hovering over them.Her moves slow, as were Aredhel a small and frightened bird _She_ cups her face in her hands, _She_ whispers above her lips. _Fear not._

Her lips are soft and lingering.There they pluck and slide sweetly and the shock of the heat of it is such that Aredhel cannot return their press, but lies stunned. _Ai!_ She cannot think!

_What is thy wish?_

Aredhel’s eyes fly open.It seems they had closed of their own, tight and covered behind hands that pressed them to their sockets.When she opens them, it is find all about closed and dark.For long, black hair trails upon her and wings have come about them to enfold them.Within the shadows there, she find eyes of gold looking upon her.Small and private, this place seems, where naught but they might know what might happen there.And there, she whispers to the eyes in the dark.

_I wish to fly._

A broad smile breaks over sharp and white teeth.And with this, _She_ splits the white of wool and linen with but a swipe of a finger.There, settling between Aredhel’s thighs and bending her leg to her breast, _She_ brings them together, bringing a cry to Aredhel’s lips at the sudden slide of skin upon skin.When had she grown so wet? 

And then, _She_ moves.

Thrusting and twisting together, _She_ grasps Aredhel behind her neck and holds her fast upon her thigh.Wings shake and flap above them as if they were about to take flight.And it is as were ground falling away and Aredhel can feel naught but the rush of wind upon her.She clutches at the arms about her as were she afraid to fall, her fingers biting into warm skin and muscle that moves beneath it.Heat crawls upon her breast and cheeks. 

_Aye, little one, let it burn!_

And she does, straining against the hold upon her and her eyes full of the sweep of wings until the knot of pressure breaks loose and pleasure floods through her as were she falling from a great height. 

Laughter sounds above her and _She_ tightens her grip, thrusting all the faster.

Head thrown back and the sinews of her neck long and tender, her legs shake and body shudders.There, at the peak, her breast heaves and _She_ throws her wings wide as were _She_ riding the wind rushing up from a river gorge, her wings trembling and stretched to the limit of their strength. 

_She_ laughs and, catching her breath, _She_ throws back her head and crows loud and long and full of joy, so that the trees ring with it. 

Almost tender the touch of claw upon Aredhel’s cheek, there it rides from bone to jaw.

 _Such a sweet thing art thou, of Aman-born,_ the winged- _She_ says. _And s_ _uch a fire lies within thee._ She smiles broad, her wings hanging from her back as naught more than a leather cloak. _Would not you wish to come with me, to see it burn?_

Cold floods upon Aredhel as had a pitcher of the water of the Gladuial been turned over upon her.With a great heave, she kicks at the winged thing that lays upon her, toppling her from her.On hands and feet, she scrambles back. 

_She_ has righted herself, crouched apart and looking upon her narrowly.No doubt Aredhel’s face is twisted in horror, for a loathing arises within her as a black thing writhing and twisting within her.

 _What would you have me be?_ she asks and _She_ rises, her eyes watching Aredhel’s hands with much care.

 _They would twine themselves about thee as a strangling vine about a young tree, She_ says and jerks her chin south where lies the ring of low huts and smithies.Her look is more grim than would have been warranted just moments before. _More than what thou art here._

With this, drawing back her fist, Aredhel springs to standing and strikes her across her face with the crop from where she had grabbed it.And _She_ allows it.

 _I am Ar-Feiniel, the Lady of the Noldor.Who art thou?_ Aredhel spits from a mouth twisted and trembling as _She_ uncoils from where _She_ had turned and touches upon her face. _Think you untethered?Go, pull upon your own leash!See how far you can fly ere it snaps tight about your own neck!_

The dark of her eyes pinned and sharp as a bird’s, _She_ licks at her lip broken upon her own teeth, red and stained with blood. Mayhap in another time, or at another’s hands, _She_ would snarl and hiss and bare her sharpened teeth.But here _She_ does not. 

All in white and silver does the Elf stand afore her, her long black hair as a cloak dark upon her back, limbs tense and shaking, her face marred with tears and the agony of a fire that burns her from within. 

_Ah, little one_ , _She_ says, her voice soft. _She_ draws herself up tall, her wings as shadows dark behind her back. _I could rip thee in twain with but a little effort, and leave thy body to lie here to feed the small wingless things that crawl and burrow ere thou art found._

Here her eyes glitter with a dark light.

 _But I think I shall not._ Looking upon Aredhel, her lips quirk in a smile and her head cocks as a hawk sighting its prey. _I think, instead, I shall leave thee here._

Aredhel snarls, her face twisted in rage.How dare _she_ judge her!A thing such as _She_?

Tightening her grip upon the crop, she launches herself at the winged- _She,_ but she is already late in it and, faltering, falls to her knees with the force of it.For, there is naught left to strike but a whirl of wind and a swiftly flying shadow that pierces the canopy of green high above, and the soft sound of laughter.

Upon her knees, sunk deep to mud, Aredhel flings her arms wide and, blind, roars at the empty and hidden sky, a wordless cry wet with tears and rage that rattles the limbs of the trees.

And then there is naught.

* * *

_Once more, she made herself small.There upon the shores of the lake of Gladuial, in the house of her husband. There she gathered her skirts about her and settled upon a bench in her son’s rooms.There, she lay her hands upon her lap, white and still, and, schooling her features to pleasantness, listened to her son. He spoke of carven halls and the ringing of dwarven song in Nagrond.Deep their voices resounded in his tales and told of the sparks that fly from the strike of a hammer, the flicker of light within the deep, and the shimmer of water as a mirror in lakes that saw naught of the sun.There he strode from door to hearth and returned, his eyes bright and each pass more restless than the last._

_She smiled._

_When done, and he laughed his breathless laugh, seating himself beside her, she took up his hand._

_Aye, Lómion, my child, my dusk-born son, you must forgive me.I, your mother, have been remiss._

_And when he looked upon his mother with puzzlement upon his face, she continued._

_I thought you content and so gave it no thought.But you know little of our kin beyond these bounds._

_Her voice soft, she then sang.She sang of fountains and the singing of the fall of its waters; the glow of sun on the greenswards of Tumladen where the wind blew down from the mountains of Echoriath and she, the White Lady of the Noldor, had walked amidst a sea of tall grasses. She sang of the spires of stone about which flew birds winged white and bright with the sun, their shadows flying swift beneath the windy skies of spring._

_And when she paused as though in thought and unsure should she go on, he stilled, rooted to the earth as were he a young hart at the snap of a twig beneath an unknown foot, his eyes dark with song and wonder upon her._

_Ai! Ar-Feiniel, my mother, why do you stop?Will you not continue?_

_And soft, and pleased, she touched his hand.There he took her hand as were he on feet meant only to follow._

_And she smiled._

~

~ art by [Maironsmaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaironsMaid)~ 


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